


Rainmaking

by Cirilla9



Category: Black Sails
Genre: African Folklore, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Disabled Character, Dubious Morality, First Time, John Silver is a Little Shit, M/M, Madness, Manipulation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Pirates, Seduction, kind of, probably very innacurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 03:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14559732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: The winds are calm, the crew is starving. A tale from an African crewman gives Silver an idea of how to improve the situation.





	Rainmaking

The ship drifted upon the smooth waters, the wind did not blew for several days. The stillness of everything around was maddening; so was the lack of water, the want strengthened yet by the amount of sea all around. Sun was burning their skins and sanity and a man could not even refresh overboard for the salt dried even more than the heat.

„Back home, in my tribe,” one of the African crewman was telling a story and a circle of listeners gathered around him. John, from the lack of anything to do, sat among them, “it is known a weather is the attribute of kings. If the king fails to summon the rain, that is the sign the Gods are not pleased with him.”

“What do you do then?” asked Nick.

“We sacrifice the king to placate the gods.”

John frowned, looking at the cloudless skies. Joshua barked something in his native language, looking at the storyteller threateningly.

“The king is for his people, if giving up his life may save the rest of the tribe, it’s just his job,” said the man, rather defensively.

Joshua growled something more and smacked his countryman on the head. That was the end of it, the teller went silent and everyone went back to being idle and miserable. But John still thought, his water-bereft mind presented him the strangest visions.

Captain was raging and the storm came, captain was woeful and the winds died. It was like his personal demons influenced nature around them itself; like his every inward monster came to life to haunt them all.

When Flint was willing to fight, they defeated the hurricane itself. As now he was descending into desperation, ready to die, he was dragging them all toward Hell, right behind him.

Fuck it, John was not going to die just yet and if helping himself lead through helping captain Flint out of this pit of grief, John would do that. He got up and went to captain’s cabin.

 

* * *

 

 

_Miranda was pale with the sick kind of pallor only a death can paint with. She didn’t look like the undine anymore but she remained cold and distant. Her words, at least, bore the same kindness as during her life._

_“You think everything’s lost now but it is not so. You’re still alive and you should not cast it away inconsiderately. You’ll find the joy of life again, I promise. Let me guide you through the darker phase, trust me…”_

_She got closer to kiss him. It was wonderful to feel her mouth upon his again, to feel her closeness when she didn’t touch him once since…_

Flint opened his eyes, pushing violently away whoever was leaning above his bed. A blade was in his hand even before he recognized the curly black shag. He lowered the knife at the sight of Silver before him, wobbling on one leg.

“What the hell are you doing?” Flint requested, trying to guess how much of the whole situation was his dream, where it ended and the reality begun.

“What I’m best at,” replied Silver with the disarming honesty, “caring for my own self.”

“And what does it have to do with me?”

“Everything. You might want to die right now and, to speak plainly, I don’t really care. But I’d much prefer you committing suicide alone than taking us all with you. So I’m not going to let you die before you get us out of that calm winds.”

Flint stared at him, trying, and failing, to follow his reasoning.

“You expect me to single-handedly row the whole ship back to the shores?”

“I want you to feel better so the weather improves as well. Your anger is a storm, your grief the lack of wind. And we need a breeze.”

“How long have you been water-deprived?” asked Flint suspiciously. “Or have you started to drink the salt water?”

Silver ignored him and went on with his insane speech.

“Now as a simple mariner I don’t have that much to offer. To be exact, I don’t have anything besides my own body. I know it might be a poor gift and probably not to your tastes but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“What the fuck are you saying?”

Silver rolled his eyes as if impatient by Flint’s too slow thinking process.

“I’m offering you the reason to life. Poor as it may be, a pleasure is still a pleasure and it is only one of the many joys the world has to offer.”

His words bore uncanny resemblance to Miranda’s phantom’s words. Whatever Silver said about his anger being turned into the real life storms, it was her who sent terrifying captain Flint after her enemies during her life; why would her ghost not sent a comfort to Flint in the moment of need?

Silver limped closer again, put his hand upon Flint’s knee. Flint glanced at it before returning to observing his quartermaster meticulously. Silver was but a kid, whose imaginations about the world weren’t completely crashed yet but that only gave him a certain endearing share of innocence. He lied and manipulated without regrets but he did everything out of egoism and the fact that he did not try to hide his inferior motifs lent him some honesty. And his eyes were blue, just like…

Encouraged by the lack of protest, Silver slid his hand further up Flint’s thigh, while sliding his other one behind Flint’s neck slowly. All of his movements were cautious as if he feared Flint would snap at him at any moment. He kissed him and this time Flint returned it, allowing the knife to slid out of his loose grip. It clattered upon the wooden floor.

“The doors,” growled Flint, tearing himself apart from the pliant lips of his crewman.

“I locked them,” assured Silver, making his way into the captain’s cot. The bed was too narrow for two grown men but that only demanded them snuggling close to each other. After the minute of the uncomfortable wriggling and a few elbows in tender parts of flesh, Silver was laying upon him and there were palms at his crotch, undoing his trousers.

Flint reached for Silver’s in return, giving him a moment for eventual objection for not wanting to be touched anywhere near his absent leg but when no sign of disagreement came, Flint unbuckled Silver’s fastenings.

He gasped when Silver touched him, a hand of sailor rougher and more calloused than that of an English lord. Noticing his discomfort, Silver retreated his hand, spat at it, before taking a hold of him again.

“Normally I’d use rum but I’m afraid we’ve run out of stock.”

Flint, despite of himself, sneered.

“Is this something you do on regular basis, then?”

“I’m a pirate now. Trying to play a proper role of one.”

Silver’s words were breathless at the edges, Flint could feel his arousal growing against his own, hardening in his palm. He moved his hand, touching Silver at the wrist, guiding him so the younger man could embrace them both at the same time.

The brief twitch of Silver’s brow told Flint the youth was not as experienced as he claimed to be but, quick learner as he was at everything, he mastered the new variation of position in few strokes. Flint let him choose the pace.

When he felt himself closer to the end, he reached up, twining his fingers in Silver’s black locks and pulling the youth to himself. He stifled any grunts in the mouth of the other man, Silver’s lips parted easily for him.

He came still kissing his partner, feeling Silver’s answering shudder of pleasure above him.

 

* * *

 

 

Making oneself presentable for the rest of the crew did not demand much effort when most of the men wore underpants only. John rebound his tousled hair but did not bother himself with sticking the loose ends of his shirt behind the belt.

When they stepped on board, the black banner fluttered lightly. John mistook it for hallucination first, then he saw the sails bulging and a shout of pure delight reached him:

“It’s the breeze! Wind is back!”

As the collective hurrah resounded on Walrus’ desks, John looked at Flint. Captain looked away from him and shook his head in deprecation. He was smiling though.


End file.
